


I hate you! I love you!

by Gorgeous_Girl_Genius



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School
Genre: Attempted Murder, Blow Jobs, Broken Bones, Dubious Consent, F/M, Public Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Suicide Attempt, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 12:06:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18916660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gorgeous_Girl_Genius/pseuds/Gorgeous_Girl_Genius
Summary: Nagito and Junko have established a pattern of sex on the school rooftop. Nagito objects, Junko insists, and Nagito participates enthusiastically even while protesting. Today Nagito breaks this routine.





	I hate you! I love you!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [writermouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/writermouse/gifts).



“I hate you. You’re worse than talentless. Worse than even scum like me. Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me, don’t touch me!” Nagito begs me, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me closer. He squeezes me tight against his chest, and I just press a contented smile into it. It’s routine at this point, his protests forming the bassline that runs under everything, even as he himself ignores them. I can feel the despair radiating off of him with my whole body. I swear I can smell it in the fabric of his t-shirt.

“You disgust me. I hate you so much.” Nagito’s lips press against the top of my head. I run my fingers up under his jacket, over the back of his T-shirt. He lets me have this feeling every time, his despair an offering to me. This following, it’s predictable, so it should be boring. But it’s full of despair, and despair is interesting enough. Everything is predictable. Even despair is predictable. But the despair of this despair being predictable sends me into a spiral. 

“You love me.” The words are both familiar in my mouth and a statement of absolute fact. He won’t deny it. That’s not how this goes. Every day we meet on the roof after school, and every day the following looks almost the same. It’s our routine as a couple.

“It’s your fault.” He says instead. The despair in the breathy laugh he gives me is divine. I made him love me. I took someone so obsessed with hope, so full of hope, who hates despair, the very essence of who I am as a person so deeply, and I made him somehow love me anyway. 

“That’s the best part.” I say, smiling into his chest before pulling back from him, pulling my hands, pressed flush against his skin, around to the front of his body and hooking my fingers under the waistband of his jeans. His eyes widen. 

“No, don’t.” He says, leaning back. He doesn’t always object. But when he does, it’s delicious. I lick my lips; his fear is surely a prelude to despair in one of it’s best and purest forms. In a fluid motion, I unbutton his jeans and start to pull down, but then he actually steps back. That’s new. The objections are routine, but actually pulling away? That’s new. I step forward and he takes another step away from me. 

“Please don’t, Junko. Not today. I don’t want to.” What an exciting new wrinkle, the anticipation of breaking through this fear, of crushing the hope that’s required to even have fear, and to think that stepping back might prevent me. I step forward again, he steps back. We repeat and repeat until he steps back against the waist-height wall that runs the perimeter of the roof. He shakes his head no when I return my hands again to the waistband of his pants and pull them down a bit in the front, but then he shifts back, leaning against the half-wall, and he helps me, pulling them down further and moving his boxers out of the way. 

“You disgust me. I hate you.” Nagito whines when I drop to my knees in front of him. I don't say anything in response, opting to take his dick, which is now completely exposed, into my mouth and sucking. He gives his head a frantic shake no, pushing his hips forward, pushing himself to fill my mouth more completely. 

After he gets hard in my mouth, his whined protests lose the coherence and turn to moans, and whimpers, overwhelmed and even breathier than his voice is in general. His face, which I can just catch sight if if I turn my eyes up as far as possible, flushes a deep pink, his eyes closing. He rests one hand on the wall behind him, pulling the other up to his mouth and biting the end of his sleeve in place of a lip. He sucks on it, muffling his voice with it. He's squirming, shifting his hips around, those slight little thrusts pushing in and out of my mouth, almost incidentally. I take them as suggestions, moving to dramatize the motion in the same rhythm he's setting, unconscious as it may be. It won't be long that I'll have to keep this up before he'll cum, screaming his disgust and shame at doing so with not only his words but his tone and his face and his body language. 

But before he can, I find his hands suddenly in my hair, pulling back against my head and breaking the seal my lips have on him. I look up in bafflement into the unhinged swirls of his now wide-open eyes, the hope, and despair, fighting, mixing, inseparable in them.

“Ahahahahahahahahahaha!” He laughs, throwing his hands out in a caricature of a shrug. I wait for him to continue, still kneeling just in front of him. Whatever he says next is sure to hold my interest, if nothing else.

“I decided to do an experiment today!” Nagito yells, “Is the despair you will bring truly a worthy adversary for hope?! Am I a worthy stepping stone for that same hope?! Let’s let my luck decide! If we survive, it must be worth it!” I actually wasn’t expecting this one. I open my mouth to begin a question but before I can even form the words, he’s tugging on my pigtails again, one hand in each, wrenching them both upward, giving me no choice but to stand if I don’t want him pulling out fistfulls of my hair. His arms then find their way around me, crushing me tighter to his chest than I thought they possibly had the strength to. 

“What the fuck?” Is all I have can manage before he’s pushed us backward, over the railing and off of the roof. 

The feeling of headfirst free-fall, wrapped in Nagito’s crushing grip is exhilarating. I feel the laugh tear from my throat, harmonizing with his. What a pointless death. Betrayed, if you could call it that, by my lover, if you could call him that. Falling off the roof. None of my plans will come to fruition. I was going to end the world. I had it all set up, all planned out and now… this. My breath gone, stolen by the air pressing up against me, my stomach lost somewhere in my throat, body pressed up against his in a death grip, I'll die, because I was giving a blowjob to my crazy, hope-obsessed, boyfriend on the roof. How dull. A bizarre death, undeniably, but a mundane one anyway. An oddity instead of anything appropriately impressive. Instead of being Junko Enoshima, the girl who brought the whole world to its knees, who bathed it in the chaos of apocalyptic despair, I'll just be Junko Enoshima, the model who went crazy and jumped off a roof with her unhinged, gay, boyfriend who still had his pants down around his knees from whatever they were doing before. 

How pointless, how meaningless, how narratively unsatisfying. How…. Hopeless. How absolutely full of despair. The despair is intoxicating, the manic laughter coming from somewhere deep inside me, pouring out of my mouth. The best laid plans, falling apart at the seams under the most stupid, unimpressive, circumstances; it's the most delicious, exciting despair, as if the sky is falling down with me to crush me even after I hit the ground.

I crush Nagito with my arms just as tightly as he holds me, reveling in the feeling, screaming, laughing hysterically with the pleasure of the unexpected, all consuming despair. And not just my own despair, but his as well. Nagito will breathe his last breaths laughing insanely along with me. That hope-crazed maniac will die in my arms, the place he hates the most and loves the most, the place that disgusts him the most and that he seeks out every day, the absolute worst and absolute best place to die. And the lunatic brought it on himself. To kill me, he'd kill himself, intertwined with me. If despair will die with me then it would make sense for hope to die with him and so I'm we'll leave the world a boring place with no hope, no despair, no conflict between the two, nothing but boring predictability.

I realize that we’re tumbling, falling at first headfirst, then sideways, then feet down toward the ground and all over again. I’m dizzy and euphoric and even I can’t keep track of our trajectory until we’re face-down and Nagito’s unhinged laughter seamlessly transitions into an agonized scream. My arms are forced apart by something small and metal as his crush me somehow even tighter. Blood sprays everywhere, covering my arms and splashing in our hair and over our faces. With a defined and violent bounce upward, we stop. Somehow, we’re hanging on the pointed end of the brand new flag pole by only the hood of Nagito’s jacket. It’s ripped through the rest of his jacket, along with his, pants, his shirt and a portion of the skin on his back. By some luck, we’ve been caught close to the ground, slowed enough by the friction of the flagpole tearing into his back enough to stop. I have just enough time to gather this before hear the fabric rip through completely. 

With our feet down, and just a moment further to fall, not nearly enough time to build back up the momentum we had before, I know we won’t die. But now it’s going to hurt. I close my eyes and resign myself. There’s nothing I can do now to prevent it. And that despair is so delicious it tears something between a scream and a moan from my throat. And, indeed, a second later, there’s a deafening, sickening series of almost overlapping crunching noises. I can’t identify which bones he’s broken, but the pulsating fire in both of my ankles and my left shin tell me they’ve been crushed. Not just broken or snapped but crushed into tiny fragments. Is there any hope of them ever being repaired? I couldn’t tell you. Nagito topples backwards, finally releasing his grip for the first time since he grabbed me on the rooftop, but it hardly matters because my own shattered legs give out under me and I fall forward onto him. He’s now gasping for breath, and his blood is already starting to pool from the long wound on his back on the concrete underneath him. His clothes are in tatters, so much so that he’s basically not wearing them. And that fall was the greatest series of different feelings of despair flashing by in sequence that I’ve felt to date. The despair of betrayal, of free-fall, of resignation to death, and then to being wrong about dying, and then to pain and injury. 

And even now, there’s more, now the despair comes from where we are. The assurance that we’ll be found this way. It’s not as if we can pick ourselves up and pretend this didn’t happen. What will this do to my reputation? What will this do to my plans? There’s really no way to exit this situation and keep everything that happened private. It’s just so incredibly full of despair. I look at Nagito’s face, twisted in pain, but still smiling, for no identifiable reason, eyes closed, mouth open, brows knitted into a v. I push up on my hands, only realizing that they’re bruised too, tender and sore when they press into the ground. Once I’m on my knees, I’m forcefully reminded of the reason I didn’t notice that by the pain shooting up from my legs. It’s just a slight step back, and there’s no weight on the bones, but even so, the agony burns with the motion in every shard of my multiple broken bones, radiating all the way from my toes up through my shins. But I have something I started before the fall and I want to finish it. Maybe even more so because of the pain. 

Oh good. He hasn’t lost the erection at any point. I shift back further again, laughing at the pain in my legs even as it pulls tears from my eyes, and moving my panties to the side. Lucky for me, I wear a short enough skirt that that’s all I have to do to clear the way so I can slide him inside me. Immediately he gasps. 

“Junko! We didn't die!” He yells, a tone of baffled protest evident in his voice. His thoughts are getting mixed up again; he’s clearly not saying the part of his thoughts he’s meaning to, but I don't ask what he did mean. I just bounce. And with every bounce, my pain gets worse and I scream louder. Nagito mirrors me, adding his screams to mine, their volume rising in tandem with mine. For a long while, they’re wordless, the sound just agony embodied in a single, drawn out wail that only fluctuates in volume. I cannot stop, chasing that despair, seeking the culmination of orgasm that I can’t possibly be far from with everything that’s just happened. 

“No, no, no, no, no,” Nagito finally finds his words again, pulling backwards underneath me in a pathetic attempt to wriggle away. I laugh and I scream all at once when his squirming drags my shattered feet along the ground.. 

“Stop, don’t, Junko, I don’t even  _ like  _ this!” He whimpers, and I can hear the despair in every tormented syllable. 

“I know, I know, I know! That’s the best part!” I manage to pant out in time with the motion of my hips. He’s stuck, at my mercy. Far more injured than even I am, and with my whole body including the limp legs I couldn’t move off of him if I wanted to pinning him to the ground. He can’t move his legs at all it seems, and his back is still seeping blood all over everything. He’s helpless to stop me. Completely at my mercy, he’ll give up any hope of being able to stop me. And he continues to moan and protest. No and stop and don’t just tumble from his lips without meaning between screams and wails and desperate gasps for breath. 

But it’s not long before Nagito grabs for one of my hands, intertwines his fingers with mine and squeezes. He shifts into me and matches my bouncing with his own until he’s cumming and crying, hysterically babbling out his feelings in a way that’d be enough to push me over the edge even without the absolutely extravagant prelude of today.

“I hate you! I hate you! I think I’m going to throw up! this is the worst I’ve ever felt! I hate myself! I hate you! I love you!” 


End file.
